


Continuation

by ever_increasing_circles



Category: British Comedian RPF, Mock the Week RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:57:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_increasing_circles/pseuds/ever_increasing_circles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark wakes Jon up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Continuation

**Author's Note:**

> Any similarity between the fictional versions of the people portrayed here and the actual people is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).

The one thing that Mark wanted to do - wanted to be _able_ to do - was to help. This single sentiment applied to many situations over many years, and Mark liked to think that it was a generally positive attitude to try to have. Be helpful, help people, don't annoy them, leave them alone if that would be the most helpful thing.

This vague, benevolent desire seemed to pull him into things, though. He remembered Russell (as he knew that many people did). He stepped into Jon's bedroom and knew he probably wouldn't be thanked for the intrusion, but it _was_ past lunchtime, now.

The curtains were drawn and Mark could see Jon's shape beneath the covers. He stood still for long enough to identify the sound of Jon's breathing, and then walked over to the window to pull the curtains apart. It was cold outside, he knew that much (from having been awake enough early enough to actually have left the house already that day), but the sky was bright and blue. He heard the words of elderly relatives in his mind, _it's nice behind glass...!_ and stood back with his arms folded, idly gazing over the usual scenery; nothing much was going on outside, but then the view _was_ really only of other people's gardens. Somebody across the way opened their back door and a dog ran out, and--

"Hnn _nn_."

Mark turned his head on hearing noise from beside him. He watched the blanketed shape shift, seemingly with some sort of discomfort. "Morning...!"

There was a moment's silence before the top edge of the duvet was pulled down, revealing sleepy eyes glaring in Mark's direction. "... Morning. ...What's--... what time is it...?"

There was a clock next to the bed, Mark knew that much, but looked to the watch on his wrist all the same. "Time to be getting up."

"What for?"

"Because it's the afternoon...! It's quite nice, outside. I mean, apart from being cold. But you'd expect it to be cold, given--"

"Mark."

"Yes?"

Jon stretched both of his arms out and then fell back against his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. "I think we've already established this, but it probably bears repeating: I'm not really a morning person. And before you come back with 'it's not the morning anymore!', that's right, but you _know_ that's not what I mean." He turned his face to fix his gaze on Mark. "Maybe I like to have a lie-in, sometimes."

"I can make breakfast, if you want."

It wasn't really a direct response, and they both knew that. Jon leant back and rubbed a hand over his eyes, weighing up which course of action would be more productive; berating Mark for waking him up too early, or having breakfast? Food was nearly always the better option. He relented, nodding. "... I'll be down in a bit."

Mark prepared in the kitchen downstairs as he heard the tell-tale noises upstairs - Jon moving from his bedroom to the bathroom, causing the creak of the pipes and the hum of the boiler as he then showered. Mark had got used to this, and had got quite good at timing his culinary attempts to be ready for when Jon emerged downstairs and today was no exception; Jon was washed and dressed and slightly better-equipped to being awake, now. The toast was on the table, and Mark was in the process of getting the orange juice out of the fridge when Jon spoke.

"... Sorry."

Mark only smiled in response, "What for?"

"I kind of... snapped at you. Thought I should probably apologise."

He was getting the glasses out from the cupboard, now. "Oh, it's okay. I'm used to it. My fault for waking you up." Mark still smiled as he said that, as Jon watched him (as carefully as he always did). It _was_ the afternoon but it was still quite early on in the day; this sort of behaviour only ever drew one word from Jon's lips, but was this the appropriate time for it?... Every time he asked it it felt like the question that could unravel everything, but it hadn't, not quite yet.

_Why?_

Mark was used to this, was used to _all_ of this; Mark worried for it and Jon hated that he'd had to. Mark didn't need to be there, making sure Jon got up in the morning(/afternoon/evening/at all) and making him breakfast. On the other side of that, Mark _didn't_ need to be there, so why was he? Why was he _still there_? Was there some reason for it, something he expected to get out of it...? Secondary to that main question was usually ' _what do you want?!_ ' and again, it felt like an important question and it wasn't that Mark had never answered those questions, more that Jon had never quite felt satisfied by the given answers. Was that his fault? Mark's? He would quietly eat his toast, contemplating, wondering if there was even anything to say over breakfast that wasn't _why are we doing this? Why are we still doing this, even now...?_

Sometimes, they would risk trying to address the elephant in the room as directly as they could, as roundabout as that might still have been. Small things stirred them; a newspaper article, something a mutual friend might have said, the television listings for the weekend. Jon didn't like feeling like he was always the one to say it, but knew that if left to his own devices, Mark _never would_.

" _Heard from Russell recently?_ "

" _Has anyone?_ "

Jon would turn the newspaper pages, as if it were of no particular importance. " _M'guessing that someone probably has. Not like he's in solitary confinement or anything._ "

No man was an island and it was very hard to keep situations like this in their own vacuum; others would ask, too. Those mutual friends, again. Meaning well, causing the opposite. They would ask about Russell, as people often did, and they too would ask _why_. Again, answers were hard to come by. And it had been a long time, now - a long time for Mark to still be waking Jon up, to be looking out for him, to be making him breakfast. Not that those who would ask were aware of _that_ as well (or at least, Jon hoped that they weren't), otherwise the questions would be practically endless. _Why_ and _when_ and _how_ and _why_ again, just for good measure, and neither Mark nor Jon had any answers for them. It felt easier to keep to _this_ , asking those questions that couldn't be answered and avoiding those that _could_ , and if anybody else asked? It wasn't really any of their business.

Jon knew that he _could_ ask all of these questions again, that they _could_ try to reach an answer over toast and orange juice, but the likelihood of some revelation or epiphany at this time of the day seemed quite low. He also knew that Mark would insist that he didn't _have_ to do the washing-up, and so he did so anyway.


End file.
